


Lilac Wine

by thisvastfirmament



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Career, Angst with a Happy Ending, Catholicism, Confession, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Priest AU, Priest!Jack, Slow Burn, more tags to come as the fic progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-06-07 23:18:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15230190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisvastfirmament/pseuds/thisvastfirmament
Summary: A young man kneels in a confessional. A priest sits, waiting.This is the story of bisexual Catholic priest Father Jack Zimmermann, and Eric Bittle, the Southern gay baker. What could possibly go wrong? What could possibly goright?





	1. Beginnings

“Bless me father, for I have sinned. It’s been… gosh. It’s been about three years since my last confession”.

The dust motes glistened in the air between them as the priest leaned closer to the confessional booth’s partition. He cleared his throat.

“What brings you here to me today?”

“I needed to come to confession-"

“Reconciliation." 

“What?”

The priest cleared his throat again before responding “It’s… they call it reconciliation now, rather than confession.”

“Oh.”

This young man’s Southern drawl was not one the priest was familiar with. He had many parishioners come and go throughout the day and yet he would’ve remembered an accent, a lilt so out of place in Samwell, Massachusetts. 

He could practically hear the cogs whirring in the young man’s head as he began his sentence again. 

“I – uh. I’ve been having some trouble uh… recently, with something that I can’t change. I know it’s fine and… uh… times have started to change but it ain’t right either. It’s not okay really. But I know I can’t fix it because I’ve tried.”

Sweat started to bead under the priest’s collar.

“And what can’t you fix?”

There was silence. Someone outside, in the nave of the church, coughed. They were not alone in the building but the confessional offered a little shelter from prying ears. A half-whispered voice came through the mesh. 

“I’m a homosexual.”

_And what do you want me to do about it?_

“I see. And you are worried about how this places you in the eyes of God.” The priest didn’t phrase this as a question. He stared directly ahead, avoiding the face he knows is doing the same less than a metre away. He ran his finger idly along the carvings that run along the front of his seat while he waited for a response. It came a few seconds later, so quiet that even in the tranquil surroundings of the church he struggled to hear.

“Yes.”

“It sounds like you have tried to make your peace with it? As much as you can right now at any rate. This is not something that needs to be fixed, no matter what you hear Father O’Neill say.” The younger priest had had more than his fair share of heated conversations with Father O’Neill. He paused for a second, forming his next sentence with care. “You… were formed in God’s image.”

“So God’s a small gay Southern man?”

The priest’s mouth curved upwards at the corners.

“Yes, in a way. He’s also me, and Father O’Neill, and everyone else on His earth.”

The priest paused, thinking how to express himself without revealing more than he wished to.

“God doesn’t want you to stray away from Him. He loves all of His children, no matter what they say to each other, what they do to each other, he sees the redeemable qualities of them. Homosexuality… is a contentious issue within the Church, yes, but the Church is an organisation.” The priest’s voice faltered slightly before he continued, finding his stride. “God is not an organisation. God cares. He sees your faults, your failings, your bad days and your good. His Son is the _redeemer_. He sees the worst things you do and the best. He sees you when you’re happy, when you’re anxious… Trust in the Lord, and He will trust in you.”

The priest and the young man sat in silence for a few seconds before the priest received a response.

“Well. That was… that was quite something, Father. Sounds like you’ve had that all saved up since the seminary.” His voice sounded tight, like he couldn’t quite will himself to continue his chipper pretense.

The priest was confused. “It wasn’t pre-prepared.” Suddenly the confessional booth seemed claustrophobic, and it was all he could do to not slide the divide across and leave.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. Sorry. I ain’t in no position to be disrespecting a man of God, certainly not. Lord, if my mama could hear me now I don’t know what she’d do.”

“Are you out to her?”

Another short silence filled the booth.

“Yeah. I mean, there’s a reason I don’t live in Georgia no more, and I love my mama I really do, but she doesn’t approve of my lifestyle. Lifestyle. Never mind the fact I haven’t even ever had a proper boyfriend…” the young man trailed off.

The priest remained silent for a few seconds, willing the young man to continue but he did not.

It would be a lie to say he didn’t enjoy the young man’s voice. It would be a lie to say that the bright blond hair that he could see in his peripheral vision wasn’t something he wanted to see more of, look at directly, like a comet that he wanted to return again and again.

“Come and see me again next week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble-style piece that forms the basis of the rest of the fic.   
> Thanks for reading! :)


	2. The Mirror Shows Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning had been a slow one for Father Jack Zimmermann. It had been quite the opposite for Eric Bittle.

 

 

The morning had been a slow one for Father Jack Zimmermann.

He’d left the apartment to greet grey skies that loomed menacingly overhead. _Perhaps the weather will improve._

After morning mass, he had spent an hour in prayer and solitary reflection before returning to his office and attending to the emails that had piled up worryingly rapidly overnight. Confessions were usually heard on a Saturday afternoon but with Father O’Neill absent, Jack had been asked to run them during the week. _“Just this once, Father Zimmermann, I’m afraid I have urgent business that calls me away from the parish for the weekend.”_

A visit to the local hospital came after lunch, which ended with Jack staying longer than he had anticipated. Jack hated hospital visits. Not because of interacting with the sick, the dying, and their relatives, but he loathed the institutional feel to the corridors and rooms that set off alarm bells in his head. The fresh spring air outside had come as a welcome relief when he paced back to his car two hours later, the sun now just beginning to peep through the clouds.

Back at the church, Jack walked to the small refectory and reheated his mug of coffee, abandoned that morning as he sat with the phone set to go straight to the answering machine. Though the door was always literally open, the church was otherwise empty. He leaned on the counter and stared into the microwave, watching as the mug rotated around and around. _Netflix documentary or new book tonight? Reheat yesterday’s pasta or get a take-out?_

He sighed.

Covering for Father O’Neill wasn’t a trial in itself, as Jack was experienced with everything he needed to do, and yet it grated on him. Unexplained absences from the senior priest were rare at St James’s, but the upside was that Jack could spend more time interacting with his parishioners rather than doing paperwork. Or just some quiet time alone.

The sun had moved around the church and was now streaming through the windows, illuminating the transept. Jack checked his watch. _4.15_. He left his mug in the microwave, letting it beep indignantly as he paced towards the booth where, for the next two hours, he would listen to the innermost secrets of his parishioners. He kissed his purple confession stole before he reached up to place it around his broad shoulders and stepped into the confessional.

 

 

-

 

 

The morning had been a busy one for Eric Bittle.

Between feeding his neighbour’s cat, collecting a cake order from Mrs Akerele downstairs and getting stuck in rush hour traffic before he could even get to the shop, Bitty was stressed. Thank God he had decided to take a half day.

“Hey Lardo, can you toss me another set of the medium take-away cups?” he yelled, holding his hand against one side of his mouth to shield the customer he was serving. “Sorry about that,” he continued, turning back, “we’ve had just the _busiest_ morning. Was there anything else I could get for you?”

He handed the customer their latte, _Patisserie Raphael_ written in swirled cursive along the side of the cup.

Today a quiet tension underlay Bitty’s usual stress, which saw him jamming the portafilter a little more forcefully up into the espresso machine.

“Everything okay, Bitty? You seem a little…” Lardo paused, searching for the right word, “…on edge.”

“Do I?” Bitty replied, his voice coming out slightly higher than his usual tenor. He sighed. “Sorry, I’m just a lil antsy. Got something to do this afternoon, hence the half-day. It’s fine, I’m fine. I’m fine.” His lips formed a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Okay, you’re fine, I get it.” Lardo didn’t seem convinced, her arms now folded in front of her chest. “Lemme know if I can do anything.”

“Sure. Thanks Lardo.”

Soon enough, 3pm rolled around and Bitty hung up his apron. He had just under an hour, he reckoned, to get back to his apartment, take a quick shower to wash off the smell of the shop and put on a fresh set of clothes. The church was only a ten minute walk from his apartment but he didn’t want to arrive in a sweat. He’d never set foot in St James’s before and wanted to make at least a little effort for his new parish. Now was the right time. He had an apartment, a couple of friends, a job that he could see himself staying in for the foreseeable future… If he didn’t make some peace with himself soon then he knew that the guilt would eat away at him, little by little until he couldn’t take it anymore.

 

 

-

 

 

Bitty took a deep breath and pulled back the curtain of the confessional. He cleared his throat to alert the priest to his presence (he needn’t have bothered as the floorboards creaked obnoxiously loudly), and kneeled before the grated window.  A sweat began to prickle on Bitty’s brow as he wiped his hands on the front of his pants.

“Bless me father, for I have sinned. It’s been… gosh. It’s been about three years since my last confession.”

“What brings you here to me today?” the priest replied.

 _He’s young_. _And what accent is that?_

Bitty steels himself.

“I needed to come to confession-“

The priest cuts in- “Reconciliation.”

“What?” Bitty asked, thrown for a second.

The priest’s voice faltered slightly before explaining.

 “It’s… they call it reconciliation now, rather than confession.”

_Canadian? French? Both?_

“Oh.”

The priest’s voice was deep and calm, and Bitty thought idly that he could listen to it all day. _First time back at church and thirty seconds in you’re lusting over the priest? Fantastic._

_Well. It’s now or never._

 “I – uh. I’ve been having some trouble uh… recently, with something that I can’t change. I know it’s fine and… uh… times have started to change but it ain’t right either. It’s not okay really. But I know I can’t fix it because I’ve tried.”

 “And what can’t you fix?”

Bitty was suddenly aware of another presence in the church as a hacking cough shattered the silence. He lowered his voice.

“I’m a homosexual.”

Bitty closed his eyes.

“I see. And you are worried about how this places you in the eyes of God.”

_“The body is God’s temple, a holy place! The desecrators, the sodomizers, and the homosexuals are beings beyond the redemption of the Lord.”_

A word passed Bitty’s lips, barely more than a breath.

“Yes.”

“It sounds like you have tried to make your peace with it? As much as you can right now at any rate. This is not something that needs to be fixed, no matter what you hear Father O’Neill say.” This all came out in a rush, with Bitty taking a second to catch up. He opened his mouth to reply but the priest hadn’t finished.

 “You… were formed in God’s image.”

Bitty could almost scoff at the absurdity of this statement.

“So God’s a small gay Southern man?”

Bitty could have sworn he heard half a smile in the priest’s voice as he replied.

 “Yes, in a way. He’s also me, and Father O’Neill, and everyone else on His earth. God doesn’t want you to stray away from Him. He loves all of His children, no matter what they say to each other, he sees the redeemable qualities of them. Homosexuality… is a contentious issue within the Church, yes, but the Church is an organisation.”

Bitty had never heard a priest sound so… well. So blasphemous. _I guess mama was right when she said more heathens lived up north._

 “God is not an organisation. God cares. He sees your faults, your failings, your bad days and your good. His Son is the redeemer.”

_The redeemer. Redemption._

“He sees the worst things you do and the best. He sees you when you’re happy, when you’re anxious…” The priest trailed off, struggling for a moment to maintain the flow of his speech.

“Trust in the Lord, and He will trust in you.”

Years of pressure had started to seep slowly out of Bitty, and he was suddenly exhausted. Had the priest read that off a card or something? It wasn’t said without conviction but it sounded too perfect, too soon. The first reconciliation Bitty had been to in years and suddenly God is on his side?

 “Well. That was… that was quite something, Father. Sounds like you’ve had that all saved up since the seminary.” _That came out rather bitter._

The priest sounded unexpectedly perplexed.

“It wasn’t pre-prepared.” Bitty heard him take a few deep breaths, and discomfort coiled in his gut with the possibility that he might’ve overstepped the mark.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. Sorry. I ain’t in no position to be disrespecting a man of God, certainly not. Lord, if my mama could hear me now I don’t know _what_ she’d do.”

“Are you out to her?”

That was unexpected. Not ‘does she know’. ‘Out’. _Check out this priest, using LGBT terms._

“Yeah. I mean, there’s a reason I don’t live in Georgia no more, and I love my mama I really do, but she doesn’t approve of my lifestyle. _Lifestyle._ Never mind the fact I haven’t even ever had a proper boyfriend…” Bitty picked at the loose threads on the edge of his cuff.

Bitty wouldn’t have minded this fact if it hadn’t made it harder for him. If he’d had a boyfriend, maybe his mother would believe him, if not accept him. “ _But Dicky, how do you know? You’re still just a baby.”_

“Come and see me again next week,” The priest paused before continuing, “I think we have a lot to talk about and you are in need of counsel. Be sure to come on the Friday, if you can, rather than the Saturday as that is Father O’Neill’s usual reconciliation slot.”

“Right. Thank you, Father.” Bitty made a mental note to move around the shifts at work so that he could see the priest again in six days time. He’d rather not have to start over with another priest, especially if what his attitude was really like this young priest described.

A pregnant pause filled the air between them.

“Through the ministry of the church, may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen.”

“May you go in peace,” the priest added, and then leaned toward the dividing grate, “and I’ll see you again soon.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this fic is really happening! So far I've planned it to be around 20 chapters but we'll see how it goes. Hope you enjoy, and thank you for the lovely feedback on the drabble/chapter 1. It was really to test the water to see if this premise was something people would be interested in, and it's encouraged me to plan this whole thing out! Chapters may vary slightly in length but this will be a slow burn (as probably indicated by the fact that this is a Priest!AU. These boys have a lot to work out...)
> 
> Oh! And [here is a link](https://open.spotify.com/user/or8bjkykew33tc5slujn53ost/playlist/40Y47HwSCreZZaSPKvzw7h) to a playlist that I listen to while writing this specific fic, because I'm lame and have too much time on my hands.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are very appreciated :)


	3. Here I am Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack reflects and Bitty returns to the confessional.

 

As soon as the allotted time for reconciliations was over, Jack paced out of the confessional, breathing heavily and rubbing his hands over his face. On a shaky exhale, he cast his eyes around the church. The young blond man was nowhere to be seen, and Jack couldn’t decide if he was glad or not. In his year since leaving the seminary, this was his first time dealing with someone’s sexuality crisis. Unwanted pregnancies, sexual assaults, affairs, physical violence, drug addictions and alcoholism… but this was his first coming out. _Jesus._ If Jack was truthful with himself, he didn’t feel comfortable. Not because he didn’t know what to say, although there was an element of that, but because it stirred something pressed deep down inside himself.

He returned to the refectory and took the coffee mug out of the microwave, the spoon jangling against the side as his hands began to shake. _Get a grip get a grip get a grip._

_Breathe in for five, out for six. In for six, out for seven. In for seven…_

The mandatory celibacy of the priesthood had its upsides. It wasn’t an excuse, exactly, but it meant that Jack could forget about his own most private insecurities in the name of focusing on being a servant of God. The pressure of self-identification being taken away was a silver-lining, he had thought. A solid, stable future that somehow made him feel part of a team again. An exchange of a numbered jersey for the simplicity of priests’ vestments.

He had wanted to reach out to that man, to tell him that he was not alone, in so many ways. He could have bled out his innermost thoughts right there and then. His other hand clenched into a fist, his fingernails biting down into the skin of his palm.

He had six days to get himself together and think through how best he could help this young man that had trusted him. He placed the mug on the counter again and walked towards the alter. His eyes unfocused on the stained glass above, he fell heavily to his knees.

_Dear Lord, may you guide me in this journey…_

Long ago he had ceased to pray for God to change his sexuality. Jack had filed it away under ‘things I never need to think about again’, a file which also contained hockey, the overdose, therapy… But guidance for the young man in the confessional… That, he needed help with.

 

 

 -

 

 

The following week passed without Jack seeing the young man again. On Monday he had stopped by Shitty’s apartment for a coffee but that had been the limit of his social interaction outside his ministry. He made no mention of the man in the confessional – he was bound by the sacrament of reconciliation – but even if he could have, he would have kept the young man to himself.

Friday arrived and a small thrill went through Jack as he checked the day on his phone. _Today._ He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt truly motivated to get out of bed and put on his clerical collar. Today the young man should be back. Jack refused to dwell on why he was excited.

He padded to the bathroom and quickly showered, before dressing in front of the mirror on the back of his bedroom door. The crisp white collar snapped into place easily.

“Good morning, Father O’Neill,” he said, as he entered the kitchen where the senior priest sat, reading a newspaper and chewing on a piece of dry toast. “Is the coffee still hot?”

Father O’Neill grunted what Jack assumed was an affirmative. After pouring himself a mug, he sat at the table, his leg jiggling against the table leg and causing Father O’Neill’s crockery to shake.

O’Neill lowered his newspaper and looked over his glasses at the younger man. “Father Zimmermann, do you have a problem?”

Jack forced himself to still and cleared his throat.

“Oh. No.”

O’Neill was still holding his gaze, eyebrows furrowed. Jack felt like he was expected to say something else, so he added “Sorry. I had a restless night.”

O’Neill folded up the newspaper and laid it on the table. While Jack had never felt intimidated by him, there was a certain sternness that came out when they were alone, in stark contrast to the jovial face with which Father O’Neill usually greeted most of his parishioners. Lost in his thoughts, Jack’s leg began to bounce again.

“Something on your mind there, Father Zimmerman?”

Jack knew better than to tell the truth to Father O’Neill.

“I’m fine. It’s fine.”

O’Neill ran a hand over his thinning hair.

“Well now that’s just fine then.” He turned back to his toast and newspaper, the sound of his chewing almost deafeningly loud in the quiet of the morning kitchen.

This wasn’t the same feeling as before a game. No, Jack remembered the queasy ache that he used to get while lacing up his skates. It wasn’t the same as standing at his father’s side, tongue-tied and feeling simultaneously too big and too small as he shakes hands with various celebrities and sports journalists. This was a sparkling, nervous excitement of _something_.

 

-

 

 

“If you feel you are ready to date someone, then you… you should do so.”

“Maybe I just don’t have enough faith. The problem can’t be with God. The problem is with me.”

Jack frowned.

The young man was the last person of the day to appear in the confessional. Jack was going to take his time, knowing that the evening service would not start for another hour or so. The young man had seemed… not happy to be back, exactly, but certainly not unhappy. Jack rolled his shoulders one after the other, stretching the muscles after sitting for so long in one position.

He spoke quietly, and leaned slightly towards the dividing grate between them.

“There is no _problem_ with you. It’s okay to not do what it feels like everyone else is doing. You are always enough for God.” Maybe Jack was partially saying this to simply hear those words spoken aloud. Somehow, he wanted to be to this young man what he wished he had himself had five, even ten years previously.

The young man hummed softly in supposed acknowledgement. Emboldened by this response, Jack continued.

“In a way… the sex positivity in our society is liberating, allowing people to show their love for each other.” He paused for emphasis, hoping his message would sink in. “But you mustn’t feel _pressured_ by it. No need to rush, no need to do anything but be yourself and trust that God has a plan for you… That is His unconditional love.”

A small sob sounded from the other side of the confessional. Jack opened his mouth to say something, anything but the young man got there first.

“It sounds mighty conditional to me sometimes.” This was punctuated by a loud, wet sniff.

Jack stayed quiet for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts into something constructive that was not too exposing and not something that could get him dismissed from the priesthood.

“It… must be very hard for you, being Catholic. It can’t have been easy, growing up. Especially in the south.”

The young man huffed a watery laugh.

“It wasn’t. Easy, that is. It isn’t.”

Jack decided to risk probing a little deeper.

“Your family… you said your mother knows?”

“Oh yeah, Mama and Coach know.”

“And… sorry, who is Coach?”

The young man was silent for a few seconds before he cleared his throat.

“My father.”

Jack paused, trying to think of the best way to phrase his next question, brushing aside the desire to ask why his father was referred to as a ‘coach’.

“May I ask… how do you think he feels about your sexuality?”

“He…” The young man began. Jack took in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of musty hymn books and a hint of the young man’s smell  - either a cologne or body wash that lingered in the air between them.

“Something he said once… it changed things between us.”

Jack waited for a moment to see if he would continue - if he would elaborate on anything to do with his family.

A sharp intake of breath sounded from the other side of the partition.

“Well! I’m sure you must be busy, Father - ”

“No!” Jack interjected, “I mean. I’d like to talk some more if you feel able to stay a little longer?” He didn’t want to push too hard and scare the young man away, but the topic was so _much_ and it was overwhelming.

Jack heard the young man sniff sharply and reply, with half a smile in his voice “Far from me to say no to a priest.”

Jack flushed a delicate pink. _He didn’t mean it like that_.

They spoke for another fifteen minutes, until Jack noticed that the sun had gone behind a cloud, and the church was in semi-darkness.

“Sorry, I should have noticed the time. You must be tired, especially if you came here from work.” A thought occurred to him. “Wait, what line of work are you in?”

“Oh nothing special. I just work in a coffee shop now I’m done with college. Waiting for divine inspiration to strike because I don’t really know what I want to do yet. Something with food I think – baking’s my thing.” He picked up speed and continued, “Pies mainly but I can do a lot of other desserts too. My maple and apple pie is something _else_ , if I do say so myself.”

Jack couldn’t help but smile. The young man seemed to have some enthusiasm in his voice again and it would be only too easy to carry on the conversation that was flowing so easily between them.

“You sound like you have a real calling there then, eh?”

“Hmm. We’ll see I guess.” He was silent for a moment. “Will you absolve me, Father?”

Jack was slightly taken aback by the U-turn in the conversation, having been carried along into thinking of pies and pastries.

“There is nothing to absolve. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

A small voice replied “You absolved me before.”

Jack blanched slightly.

“I was mistaken before.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Jack. He doesn't have any kind of romantic feelings towards Bitty at this stage (he hasn't met him yet! It's way too early! What!) but he feels a kind of excitement over talking to a non-straight Catholic like himself and being in a position where he can try and provide some counsel. Some of the things he says are inspired by interviews I've read and listened to from real gay priests and LGBT Catholics. The research for this fic is so interesting.
> 
> I wanted to get this chapter out as soon as I could so split it up into two shorter ones. Sorry about that but hey, it'll mean an extra chapter in the long run!
> 
> Next time, Bitty attends a mass. Will he finally get to put a face to the soft deep Canadian voice he's been pouring his heart out to? Will Jack meet the small blond baker who's making his tummy go flip flop? Who knows (other than me, cos I totally know).
> 
> Till then!


	4. Agnus Dei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty couldn’t understand his own disappointment. He’d deliberately picked a weekend mass so that he could avoid seeing the priest from the confessional. If there was one thing he didn’t need, it was putting a face to the voice that had been privy to his innermost thoughts.

 

Bitty couldn’t understand his own disappointment. He’d deliberately picked a weekend mass so that he could avoid seeing the priest from the confessional. If there was one thing he didn’t need, it was putting a face to the voice that had been privy to his innermost thoughts.

So why did he feel so deflated, having turned up only to be greeted at mass by a middle-aged priest with a red face and receding hair line?

_This can’t be him_ , he’d thought, as the priest had walked into the main body of the church from the vestry. _I think I’m glad._

Because the other priest’s accent is just… _goodness._ Bitty was getting a little hot under the collar thinking about it, his face starting to redden. _Definitely unmistakeable._ The present priest’s (unfortunately American-sounding) voice broke his reverie.

“Good morning. I’m pleased to see a couple of new faces among the flock as well as the regular visitors to St James’s,” he said, his voice echoing slightly around the nave.

His immediate panic over potentially seeing the priest from the confessional assuaged, Bitty thought idly of how the shop was doing without him - whether they were rushed off their feet or if Lardo had gone into full manager-mode and everyone was doing just fine. He always felt more than a little guilty if he’d had a day off and it had been busy in his absence.

Order of service in hand while the priest continued his introductions, Bitty’s mind continued to wander towards ideas of his own bakery. Working at “Pat Raph”, as the workers nicknamed it, was all very well and Bitty enjoyed it but he dreamed of opening up his own place. Maybe he could live above the shop, like in a movie. He loved working with Lardo too, maybe he could persuade her to be the manager of the bakery…

The organ playing the opening bars of the first hymn jolted Bitty back to reality. This particular hymn at been one that he’d heard a thousand times before back in Madison and with it came both the comfort and anxiety of home, all the swirling feelings of being sat next to his parents in a place he felt unwelcome.

Sat there in Samwell, he couldn’t understand the squirming feeling in his stomach, the slight nausea rising in his chest. It wasn’t the mass itself – the familiar words had calmed and grounded him, if anything. He had thought he didn’t want to see the priest from before, the Canadian one. He could imagine nothing more embarrassing than coming face to face with the only person he’d shared his deepest feelings with. What was wrong with him? He tried to focus on listening to the service.

The church wasn’t packed but he was thankful that most pews had at least one occupant. It was a little strange, seeing it so full of people when he’d previously only seen the empty aisles on the way into confession.

Bitty looked up from his hymn sheet, feeling a twinge of shame that he’d seemingly been so set on seeing the priest from the confessional. He felt like a bit of a masochist, honestly, turning up to mass at all.

He needed to stop being so selfish.

Towards the bottom of the order of service sheet, now partially crumpled in Bitty’s damp hand, he could see was written _The mass today was conducted by Father John O’Neill._ Bitty gripped it a little tighter and looked back at the priest who was now blessing the communion wafers. _So this is Father O’Neill? Interesting._ He wasn’t sure exactly what the other, younger priest had been hinting at when he’d mentioned Father O’Neill before, but Bitty had survived long enough in his town back in Georgia to know that he didn’t really _want_ to know.

As the line to receive the wine and communion wafers inched forward, Bitty noticed that Father O’Neill was giving each person a sharp, toothy smile after blessing them. He didn’t want to read too much into it but it was slightly unsettling. _Maybe that’s just how he smiles._ Bitty felt like a lamb before the slaughter. He shuffled forward and held his hands out, palms upward. There was a brief moment of eye contact with the priest.

“The body of Christ.”

“Amen.”

Father O’Neill gave him a tight smile as Bitty nodded his head.

It was probably for the best that the other priest wasn’t here, he decided. He wasn’t even sure if he should go back to confession, the way the priest had affected him. How _had_ he affected him? Bitty couldn’t figure it out. It would be so easy to try and forget the whole thing, tell himself that he was too busy for church and leave it at that. Bitty had always been a procrastinator, even from his own thoughts sometimes.

He sat through the rest of the service, somewhat soothed by the familiar words and stock phrases that the priest was using. He was a good speaker though, Bitty had to admit. Attending the weekend mass with the older priest meant he could separate out the confession from the salvation, the secrets from routine of church life. Much better to keep them apart.

 

 -

 

By the time Bitty was back in his rickety little car, he’d resolved to go back to confession next Friday. A little more guidance wouldn’t go amiss, he figured, no matter the fact that he was wildly attracted to a _voice_ , of all things.

He leaned forward, dropping his forehead onto the steering wheel and squeezed his eyes shut.

 

-

 

When Bitty finally got back to the café after running a few errands in town (muffin cases didn’t just replenish themselves), Lardo was closing up with a couple of other employees.

“Hey Bitty,” she greeted. “I’ve done the left hand side of the coffee machine, could you do the right while I wipe these last couple of tables?” she asked, gesturing with her chin towards the counter as Bitty entered the shop.

Bitty put his keys on the counter and walked over to the machine. “Hey, sure.” He started cleaning the machine. “How did the apple and cinnamon scones sell?”

“Like hotcakes, Bitty. Not even exaggerating. There’s, like, none left,” said Lardo. “Although between you and me, I think Mrs Akerele’s daughter could’ve eaten another ten if we’d had them.”

“Hah. That’s great.” Bitty tried to sound enthusiastic and fight his exhaustion.

“How was mass?” Lardo asked, cautiously. Bitty was grateful that Lardo was so protective, truly, but right now he just wanted to crawl into his bed with Senor Bun and fall asleep.

“Yeah it was good. You know how it is,” Bitty replied, pressing the button to run the water through the machine.

Lardo straightened up, cloth in hand and hand on hip.

“Good.” She sighed. “Listen, Bitty. I don’t mean to sound nosey, or anything, I’m just a little concerned about your whole… church thing right now-” She was interrupted by Bitty interjecting a slightly high-pitched “Uhh I’m not sure that’s entirely - " 

 “I mean, you’re having a rough time with your parents as it is, and I’m just worried that by going back to church, you’re stressing yourself out more than you need to.”

The light on the machine was flashing, so Bitty checked to see if it was done yet. It wasn’t. He pressed the button again.

“It’s as much a part of me as being gay is,” Bitty sighed, his back facing Lardo. “I’m gonna have to reconcile the two of them sooner or later.” He turned around to look at Lardo, who was still looking at him with her brow furrowed.

“Going to confession the other day, it really helped. It was the tip of the iceberg, don’t get me wrong, but it felt like the _start_ of something, you know? Something that could be good.”

The coffee machine hissed as it finished.

“I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay and shit, right? I’ve got your back bro,” said Lardo, her features softened. Bitty smiled at her.

“Thanks Lardo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been a while since I updated – life found a way to be annoying. Apologies that the chapter is so short, too.  
> Yeah, so no Jack/Bitty interaction in this short bonus chapter. BOOOOO. Who decided that and then kinda regretted it because they find it hard to write about them separately??? Yeah I guess that one’s kinda on me. But, we did get to see a little bit more of Bitty’s inner workings, a bit of Father O’Neill, a bit of Lardo, and a bit of Bitty’s nemesis, the coffee machine!! The latter issue is somewhat autobiographical. 
> 
> Next time, the return of one Father Jack Zimmermann and the power of a rolled-up sleeve. Will Bitty cope? Will I cope? Tune in next time.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are very appreciated :) Thanks for reading!


	5. Mass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Jack covers mass and Bitty is caught off-guard.

_“Just this once”_ had become “just this twice”, and Jack found himself once again covering for Father O’Neill, this time at the weekend. His Saturday had been uneventful, just a jog, some paperwork and quickly changing the channel when a hockey game had come up on TV. He sometimes missed the ice, the sharp slick sound of the blades and the control he felt – of his own body, of his focused thoughts and through the captaincy of his team. But that had been a long time ago. He knew he was better off where he was now. He had stability in his life. It was never the hockey that was the problem, though. He knew that too.

Sunday came and Jack found himself delivering mass, with a hastily written homily about the importance of duty (if it was aimed at a certain absent senior priest, then, well… it was unlikely that anyone would discover that). When he stepped into the pulpit after the greetings and the first hymn, he scanned the congregation, recognizing a few regular parishioners. His eyes landed upon a new face, a blond young man sat midway back in the pews. He was wearing an off-white cotton shirt that fitted his frame well. Jack felt a sudden jolt of something – adrenaline, maybe – spike through his insides and he glanced away hurriedly. An increasing sensation of self-awareness crept over him as the young man gazed back, steadily. Could that be the man from the confessional? Jack continued with the service as usual as best he could, his brain going onto autopilot as he spoke to the congregation.

The time in the service came for the sign of peace. Under the lectern, Jack rubbed his slightly damp palms against his robes as he spoke.

“Lord Jesus Christ, you said to your apostles: I leave you peace, my peace I give you. Look not on our sins, but on the faith of your Church, and grant us the peace and unity of your kingdom where you live for ever and ever.” A quiet “amen” came from the congregation. Jack cleared his throat.

“Let us offer each other a sign of peace”.

He descended from the pulpit and began to shake hands with members of the congregation one by one, while the organist played in the background. He made his way slowly towards the back of the church, all the while offering small half-smiles and handshakes and uttering “Peace be with you… peace be with you.”

The organist was reaching the end of the gentle instrumental music when Jack finally reached the blond man, who suddenly turned around to face him, having been greeting the people in the pew behind him.

Jack’s mouth suddenly went dry. He managed to stutter out “Peace be with you”. Large brown eyes sparkled back at him. “Peace be with you,” replied the man, his warm hand gently gripping Jack’s. It was hard to tell from those four words where the man was from, and whether or not he had the warm southern lilt that Jack was expecting.

The organ stopped playing. The rest of the congregation was already back in their seats. Jack dropped the man’s hand and his eye contact.

He paced back towards the altar, vestments flowing as he felt the gaze of the younger man on his back.

The rest of the mass passed almost without incident as Jack focused on the task at hand, blessing the communion wafers and wine. The congregation began to line up to receive them, inching forward slowly. The young man was hidden behind a much larger gentleman so Jack didn’t see him coming until he was in front of him, looking up expectantly.

“The blood of Christ.” 

The young man lowered his mouth to the side of the chalice as Jack tipped the wine forward. He tried not to play attention to how the crimson liquid lingered on the man’s upper lip. His eyes flickered to the blond man’s and he quickly wiped the side of the chalice with the cotton cloth before moving to the next person.

 

 

-

 

 

Bitty wasn’t sure what had made him call out to the priest after the service. He could spot him talking quietly with an elderly parishioner. Bitty noticed the priest had a watch on his arm, which he was fiddling with, repeatedly tightening and loosening the strap.

“Father Zimmermann!” The priest turned around at the sound of his name, and said a quick goodbye to the woman he had been talking with. “Gosh, you don’t really know who I am but it’s good to see you face to face.” Bitty closed the gap between them and held out his hand to be shaken. “Bitty. Well, technically Eric Bittle, but most people call me Bitty.”

“Jack Zimmermann.” Jack shook his hand. He also had an intense stare, Bitty was rapidly discovering. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Bitty couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face. “Likewise.”

A short silence fell between them, broken by Bitty.

“I wanted to thank you, Father. It was a great sermon.” Jack looked uncomfortable, glancing away from Bitty and rubbing his hand against his neck. He was no longer wearing his vestments, just a black shirt with the white dog collar and black pants. When did he roll his sleeves up?

“I don’t know about that.”

“No, it was! It means a lot to hear words like that coming out of a preacher’s mouth.”

Jack’s lips turned up.

“But you’re not from round here.”

“What gave it away?” Bitty laughed, emphasizing his drawl and placing his hand on his hip. “My hick accent?”

“Your warmth.”

Bitty’s smile froze in place.

Jack also seemed surprise at what had just come out of his mouth. “I mean, you just – it’s.” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “The weather’s been so good recently, you must have brought it up with you. You’ve said before that you were from the South.” He seemed pained by the awkwardness of his own response.

“Well, that’s mighty sweet of you to say but yeah, I moved up to Samwell a few years ago.”

“You moved here for school?”

“Yup. And then I just sort of… stayed. Got a job, trying to save up a little money to start my own business.” Lord knew how long _that_ would take.

“I remember. Pies. Where do you work?” The priest seemed genuinely interested.

“Over at Patisserie Raphael’s. Over on Main Street?”

“Nice.” Jack paused, a slight grimace coming over his face as he seemed to stumble for something to say. “I don’t really eat sweet things.”

Bitty fumbled for a second, caught off guard by Jack’s earnest yet awkward attempt to say something interesting.

“Oh! Well, I like to make all kinds of food. Maybe someday I can tempt you with something.” Bitty smiled. Jack flushed pink.

Before he could reply, a woman interrupted, grabbing Jack’s arm “Father Zimmermann, there you are! Running off and hiding in the corner! Now I wanted to discuss the flower arranging rota with you-”

“Mrs Akerele!” exclaimed Bitty, surprised to see his neighbor. “How was the pie? I wasn’t sure about that new brand of shortening but-"

“Oh _Eric_ it was wonderful, you know I didn’t even notice, if you hadn’t said-"

“You didn’t _notice_? But Mrs Akerele, it costs two dollars more than my regular one-"

“Well that’s just plain daylight robbery-"

“I _know_!”

“Honestly Eric the things these companies try and get away with, I swear to G- oh excuse me Father, but I couldn’t tell that shortening from any old thing.”

Meanwhile Jack was watching the exchange with bemusement. Bitty turned back to him, and automatically placed a hand on his arm, momentarily forgetting that Jack had rolled his sleeves up. He withdrew his hand but it seemed that Jack had not noticed lingering contact between them.

Jack, meanwhile, had never been more aware of anything in his life.

“I’m sorry, Father, we’re being incredibly rude. You see, Mrs Akerele and I are neighbors.”

“Oh. Right.”

Mrs Akerele turned to Jack “You know, it’s so unusual to find _anyone_ with a gift for baking like Eric’s, let alone a man!”

Bitty’s smile faltered and he flitted his gaze between Mrs Akerele and Jack. Father Jack was the priest from the confessional. Father Jack knew that Bitty was gay. Father Jack was incredibly attractive, though at this present moment looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. _I need to get out of here_.

“I don’t want to hold you up any longer, Father, I should go.” Bitty turned on his heel and headed towards the door of the church. Whatever was going on here with that, quite frankly stunning, priest needed to stop before Bitty let his attraction spiral. He was so _stupid_ to even be here, to think that this was what he needed right now. Lardo had been right, this whole thing had been a terrible mistake.

“Hey hey hey-" Jack called out, pacing after Bitty, and lightly touching him on the arm to stop him. “Don’t go.”

Bitty looked up at Jack, a thin film of tears coating his large brown eyes. “I don’t belong here.”

“That’s not true, I…” Jack’s words died in his mouth. “God has room for everyone. Has love for everyone.” His eyes were pleading, gentle lines appearing on his forehead as he searched Bitty’s gaze for understanding.

Bitty, however, had heard it all before.

He sniffed, hard, and said “Thank you, Father Zimmermann. But still, I need to go. I have work to do.” He could feel Jack’s warm hand through the fabric of his shirt, still placed gently on his arm. Jack dropped his hand but maintained his deliberate and calm stare.

“Alright, well. Goodbye, Bitty. God bless.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know how long it’s been since I updated and life has been a pretty rough ride since then. But I PROMISE that I will not abandon this fic, no matter how long it takes between updates. I’m just so excited to share what I’ve got planned for these repressed boys.
> 
> Also, I'm trying to write in American English instead of British English so please do mention if you see any mistakes.
> 
> *Hamilton voice: I have so much work to do* *Elmo in front of fire gif*


End file.
